


cosmos

by aeonpathy



Series: put the sun in my hands [6]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble, Gen, I'm pretty sure this makes no sense, M/M, Unusual Syntax, i mention taeil once, idk what the hell to label this as, mark being soft ig, microscopic mention of the dreamies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 09:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18117581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeonpathy/pseuds/aeonpathy
Summary: mark views the cosmos up close.





	cosmos

**Author's Note:**

> this is heavily inspired by the legendary zora neale hurston.

 

 

mark practically feels the itch in his phalanges, the vibrating in his cranium as the bass drops.

 

the music makes him see colors. the tempo constantly thrums with something he can only decipher as _violence._

 

vivid splashes of red and orange and yellow taint his senses. he wants to grab something, latch onto someone, and absolutely tear them. wants to rip them apart. that vicious zest floods him. his heart is thundering. the screaming of his unconscious peril knocks him farther into his dilemma.

 

the beat gets _faster_ , the thrumming rapidly speeding up like a rally car on race day. his mind contorts. he constricts every single damn emotion. mark squeezes the life out of each and every one of them, baring their necks to the side.

 

his hands grasp at anything within periphery. it shreds, mauls, mangles, mutilates on contact. red is painting, red is dripping, all mark feels is the color _red_ , harsh in more ways than not.

 

but mark exhales once the music bleeds out, for why his emotions fall silent and fade back into the shadows where they slink around calmly, he is not certain of.

 

he opens his eyes regardless.

 

the piercing rays from the overhead bulbs temporarily devoid him of sight. it comes back to him in purple splotches, decorated with buzzes of yellow. a brew awfully reminiscent of the bruises that litter his knees and elbows.

 

mark doesn't mind, per se, because he's greeted by a person colored bronze adorned with a lazy grin.

 

donghyuck reminds mark of the cosmos.

 

like the cosmos, donghyuck is blue, purple, grey, white. he is blinding in the way he performs. mark feels the colors of donghyuck's aura. they soothe the flame kindled in mark's soul.

 

the colors are a stark contrast against the rampant sentiment that engulfs mark. others do not know of its lulling properties. mark tinges with a smudge of pity for those who can't.

 

in essence, donghyuck is the sun. he is the center. copernicus and his heliocentric theory rebels against traditions—in by which, donghyuck is a rebel, no?

 

perhaps not, but mark likes to believe so. donghyuck's gravitational pull is an embrace of open arms; warming, inviting, and scorching. mark might be icarus reborn. mark burns alive with the slightest touch (not that he broods over the sensation, anyways.)

 

cliché as it is to say that the boy is the personified sun itself, mark cannot help but ponder over his luck sometimes. donghyuck does everything mark doesn't. donghyuck is everything mark isn't. and that is perfectly alright.

 

donghyuck is just like the sun: character gargantuan, personality fiery, eyes blazing, emotions tightly bound. solar flares are magnificent, in mark's very humble opinion, so the only fact that mark can state with confidence, capital f and c, is that solar flares are donghyuck's vocals. they are high, everlasting, and fucking pretty.

 

donghyuck is also pretty. donghyuck is boyish and mature; his glare is level-headed, features sharp and soft, style crafted to every tiny detail.

 

stars are what complete donghyuck. they live in his eyes, lighting up through the darkest of the nights.

 

mark must be the only person in the world who sees beauty.

 

it intrigues him more than it should. mark reaps the benefits. should he not care, as donghyuck is lounging in front of him. there are no consequences for mark.

 

the world only knows so much. the audience watches with mild apprehension, however, they sit in front of curtains below of that which is donghyuck. mark views the behind the scenes, gets to look at the magic floating gracefully around. tell the witches and wizards at hogwarts that they have _nothing_ on mark, _nothing._

 

if mark is saturn, society might as well be the asteroid belt. it separates him from the sun. jupiter blocks him knowingly, and so does mars, earth, venus, and mercury. (but he loves the dreamies, so it doesn't even matter.)

 

mentioning the asteroid belt, by popular demand (ha, beyoncé, take that) sometimes gravitates towards him. understandable, the sun is also quite out of reach for them, sadly. mark can't do much but hold his ground.

 

mark does not sob at this disadvantage. _pft_ , what disadvantage? mark is here in the cosmos, in the solar system. mark does not have to attend to any precautions. he is too preoccupied with the fact that donghyuck is an entity that exists with him, by him, around him. or is mark incorrect and mark is that but around donghyuck?

 

who knows?

 

there's a nagging at the back of his skull. it is the keen stares and distasteful remarks that mark is a boy. a man. what does that have to do with anything? that mindset has been sliced, marinated, and grilled to perfection. mark sends his compliments to the chef.

 

mark does not have time to wonder where the cuts of meat came from, does not have the time to be thinking about what food was being fed to the very same livestock. he has a job, he's a performer, he can't afford to glance back into the dimming past.

 

he continues running forward, continues enjoying his days. he lives not in the past, the future, but the present, all be damned to those who dare stop his fun, his life, his choices. mark chooses not to dwell on the mistakes others have set forth for him eons ago.

 

he realizes that their biggest happiness is also the cause of their greatest downfalls. confidence and self-love seem blurry, and on some days it abandons them completely, wringing them to hang dry with no support.

 

how could confidence and self-love fall short on any of them? it is beyond mark's finite knowledge on the human psyche. then again, if donghyuck were to lose his way, mark will always be there to guide him back.

 

vice versa.

 

sotto voce brings a sharpened blade in between his internal monologue and the realities of the living world. the twinkling laugh that inundates mark's ear makes him smile.

 

its appearance has been de facto the source of mark's personal contentment through the dreary of any day, really (but  _especially_ winter.) the gloomy skies are clouded over with gray, so only the moon illuminates the days (taeil seems happier, he supposes) lately.

 

a body, albeit sweaty and sticky to the touch, drapes over him, and mark can't help but card his hands through the poofy locks on donghyuck's head, or press a gentle peck against the latter's temple.

 

saturn stares soundly at the sun, scratching and subduing the simmering spirit soaring from earlier.

 

the others aren't even here, so mark guesses the dance practice can pause for a moment. he'd be a fool to deny the boy of his life kisses.

 

mark is so in love with the center of his thoughts, the center of his solar system.

 

he thinks the cosmos look marvelous up close.

 

(if you were wondering.)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is unbeta'd and probably brimming with mistakes i'll fix them later


End file.
